“It’s quite simple,” Zak replied. “If you can monopolize the supply of ruthenium, then you can control a primary solution to global warming. What you elect to do with the mineral is a matter of money . . . and ego, I suppose.”

“I’m listening.” Goyette grunted.

“Assuming that you control the principal supply, then you have a choice to make. Mitchell Goyette, the environmentalist, can become the savior of the planet and pocket a few bucks along the way, fueling the expansion of artificial-photosynthesis factories around the world.”

“But there is a risk on the demand side,” Goyette argued. “We really don’t know how much ruthenium will ultimately be needed, so the profits could be enormous or they could be squat. I’ve staked most of my worth in developing control of the Northwest Passage. I have invested heavily in natural gas and oil sands infrastructure to be able to ship through the passage, supported by my fleet of Arctic vessels. I have long-term export agreements in place with the Chinese and will soon have the Americans pleading on their knees. And I’ve got a potential booming business in carbon dioxide sequestration. If global warming is reversed, or even halted, I could face extended ice issues that run counter to my entire business strategy.”

“In that case, I suppose we can turn to Mitchell Goyette the unrepentant capitalist, who can recognize a profit opportunity blindfolded and will stop at nothing to keep his financial empire expanding.”

“You flatter me,” Goyette replied sarcastically. “But you have made the decision easy. I can’t afford to have the Northwest Passage revert to a solid chunk of ice. The recent melting is what has allowed me to gain control of the Melville Sound gas fields and monopolize transportation in the region. Maybe ten or fifteen years from now, when the oil sands and gas reserves are nearing depletion, I can go save the planet. By then, the ruthenium may even be exponentially more valuable.”

“Spoken like a true capitalist.”

Goyette reached over and picked up two thin pages of paper lying on his desk. They were the journal entries Zak had stolen from the Miners Co-op.

“The basis for this whole ruthenium claim still seems rather flimsy,” he said, examining the pages. “A trader purchased the ore in 1917 from an Inuit whose grandfather acquired the stuff some seventy years earlier. The grandfather was from Adelaide but claimed the ruthenium came from the Royal Geographical Society Islands. On top of that, he called it Black Kobluna and said the source was cursed with dark spirits. Hardly the basis of a scientific mining claim.” He peered at Zak, unsure whether the whole thing might be a ruse on the part of the paid assassin.